


Sweet and not Fattening

by Stacy LA Stronach (slashgirl)



Category: The Interceptors (Top Gear), Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M, Set in The Interceptors Universe, This is a fiction within a fiction, not sure if it counts as RPF, only sort of Alan/Stephen it's their fictional alter egos, since Steed and St. Hammond are fictional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 01:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12595560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashgirl/pseuds/Stacy%20LA%20Stronach
Summary: Lord Stephen Slaughter wants revenge on Jason Clarkson of the Interceptors...but will he get any satisfaction? Not if St. Hammond has anything to say about it...and he does.





	Sweet and not Fattening

**Author's Note:**

> Written for trope_bingo on dreamwidth and posted as an amnesty work after I failed to make a Bingo this round. The prompt was AU: Alternate Professions and I thought this would fit.
> 
> Okay, so this is set in a fictional universe that was created on Top Gear during the Clarkson/Hammond/May era called "The Interceptors". It's meant to be silly and not serious. 
> 
> The fic was inspired by this pic of Stephen Fry (he and James often look alike anyways)--which made me think of James' Interceptors character. And that's all my brain needed.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The characters of Lord Stephen Slaughter and Alan Darling are my own creations; if you want to use them (not that I'm assuming anyone would), the only thing I ask is that you let me know, so I can read/see what you do with them. It'd be a bit hypocritical of me to say people couldn't use them, now wouldn't it? 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this silliness.

Starring:  
James May as James Steed  
Richard Hammond as Roger St. Hammond  
Jeremy Clarkson as Jason Clarkson

Guest stars:  
Alan Davies as Alan Darling  
and Stephen Fry as Lord Stephen Slaughter 

And with:  
Andy Wilman as "W"

 

"Revenge is sweet and not fattening." Alfred Hitchcock

"Revenge is a much more punctual paymaster than gratitude." Charles Caleb Colton

 

Lord Stephen Slaughter walked slowly through the prison gates, raising his face toward the sky, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face and body. His now _free_ face and body. 

Watching the black Cortina pulling up along the curb brought a smile to his face that reached his blue eyes as it hadn't done in years. He leaned down and loomed in the open passenger window. Slaughter smiled even wider as he let his gaze travel over the dark, curly haired man driving. "Good to see you, Alan darling."

Darling turned his head and sighed. "That joke was tired before you went to jail. It's even more so now."

Slaughter opened the door and folded his tall frame into the car, laughing as he did so. "Oh, love, didn't you miss me?" he asked.

"Of course," Darling whispered. He grasped Slaughter's hand on the seat; it wouldn't do to be much more affectionate here on the street. Sure, things had changed since Slaughter had first gone to jail but it hadn't changed that much where gay men could be open with their affections in public.

Slaughter sneered, reaching out to slide a hand in Darling's curls, pulling his lover closer. "That's not what I heard," he hissed, taking Darling's mouth in a harsh, punishing kiss. Slaughter didn't care if they were caught—besides, anyone looking in would only glance and assume the long, curly hair belonged to a woman. He pushed his tongue into Darling's mouth until the younger man relaxed and returned the kiss. 

Pulling back, Slaughter bit down hard on Darling's lower lip. "We'll deal with your infidelities later; I have more pressing business to attend to. Take me home."

"You bastard. I was supposed to spend ten years alone because you were stupid enough to get caught and sent away? Fuck that," Darling said, pressing fingers against his lip to check for blood.

"You were living in my house, off of my money, so yes; I expected some loyalty and devotion. As I said, we'll talk of it later. Now take me home." Slaughter turned his head appearing to watch the people walking by but he didn't see them. All he could see was the face of Jason Clarkson, the man who'd been responsible for Slaughter being in prison and losing ten years of his life.

"Fine," Darling muttered, starting the car and pulling away from the curb as soon as he could.

**Two Days Later  
Interceptors Branch Office, Dunsford**

James Steed was reading the newspaper while his two co-horts argued over whose car was better. It was an ongoing disagreement, one he no longer bothered with, since he had the best car of the three of them. His eyebrow shot up as he read the head line below the fold.

"Oi, Clarkson—did you read this?" Steed shouted to be heard over the bickering ninnies.

"Read what?"

"Lord Slaughter was released from jail the day before yesterday."

"He had five more years on his sentence!" Clarkson boomed. He walked over and grabbed the paper from Steed. He scanned the article. "Out for good behaviour, what a load of bollocks—probably family connections working their magic." Clarkson threw the paper down on the table in disgust. "That bastard."

St. Hammond sauntered over and glanced at the paper. He looked at Clarkson. "You'd best be careful, Jason. He did threaten to get revenge on you."

Clarkson sneered. "Like I'm worried about that piece of shite. No, it's business as usual, I'm not running and hiding!" he said.

"That's not much of a surprise," said St. Hammond. "You're hardly fit enough to run and too fat to hide."

Steed chuckled whilst Clarkson narrowed his eyes and raised his hand, finger pointing at his colleague. Before he could reply, the communications alarm blared. 

St. Hammond rushed over and turned on the view screen as the other two men turned to look at the large monitor.

After a moment of hissing static, their government controller, W, appeared on screen, his face serious as he spoke. "Good, Interceptors, you're all here. As I'm sure you're now aware, Lord Stephen Slaughter has been released from prison early. We only got notification this morning and let me tell you I'm not pleased about _that_. Anyways, Clarkson, I want you to be extra careful out there—Slaughter was making a lot of threats about you just before he was released."

Clarkson snorted. "I don't give a fuck, W. He's just another crim lowlife who thinks he can scare me. Well, he can't."

W rolled his eyes. "That's an order, Clarkson. You remember those, right? I'm your boss and you do as I say. I don't want you going out alone—take one of the others with you at all times. Is that clear—gentlemen?"

"Yes, fine, W. I'll take a babysitter with me. Now did you just call to natter on at us about Slaughter or what?" Clarkson huffed.

W frowned. "No, I also want to discuss that smuggling case up north," he said, and started reading from the updated case file.

The three agents looked at one another, shrugged and sat back in their chairs, settling in for another long winded "information session" from their boss.

 **Lord Slaughter's House**  
**London  
**Later the same afternoon****

"Yes, thank you, David. That's everything I'll need. Just deliver it here to the house for me," Stephen Slaughter said. He hung up the phone, his gaze moving to where Alan was sitting on the couch, reading a magazine.

"Darling, you've got that information about Steed's daily habits for me?"

"Right here," Alan replied tossing a file folder onto the table in front of Slaughter. "He's up around 5:30, leaves the house around 6:30, gets to work around 7:30. If we get him right after he leaves the house so that should give you more than enough time."

"Good, we need to find out what he was doing last night, in case his fellow agents ask," Slaughter said. 

Two hours later and Alan was helping Slaughter adjust the long haired grey wig that had arrived with the package David had sent. He finished and stepped aside so Slaughter could see himself in the mirror. "Looks good, Stephen."

"It does indeed. Good work, Alan. No one will be able to tell us apart."

"Unless you're standing side by side, you're a couple inches taller than Steed."

"Well, I don't plan on it, and Clarkson and St. Hammond aren't shrewd enough to notice it if he isn't standing next to me." Slaughter reached out, pulling Alan down so he was straddling his lap. "Mmm, you've done such a good job, I think you deserve a reward," Slaughter said with a lascivious grin before claiming Alan's mouth in a hard kiss. 

Alan pulled back. "But your make up, you don't want to mess it up."

"You can fix it up tomorrow morning, love, not to worry. Now come here."  
  
**Interceptors Branch Office, Dunsford  
The next morning**

St. Hammond was typing a report when Steed strolled through the door. He glanced at him for a moment before returning to his work.

From across the office, Clarkson said, "Nice of you to join us this morning, Steed." The only reply he got was a raised middle finger. Clarkson just laughed.

"Morning, Steed," St. Hammond said, pulling the paper out of the typewriter and putting in its folder. 

"Yes, good morning, St. Hammond," Steed replied, heading for the small kitchen area to make some tea.

St. Hammond looked at Steed's back; something seemed...off. He wondered what was wrong; after all they'd spent the previous night together—James had left around 4 a.m. to go back to his and freshen up. 

Closing the file folder, St. Hammond followed Steed. He walked up and leaned against the counter next to where Steed was waiting for the kettle to boil. "You okay, mate? You seem a little off," he said, looking up at the other man. St. Hammond frowned; he didn't normally have to look up that far to see Steed's face. He glanced down quickly, checking his footwear—Steed's normal shoes, no extra heel on them.

Steed shrugged. "Oh, you know, rough night."

St. Hammond's eyebrow rose. "No, no, I don't know. Why don't you share?" 

"Oh, just out late at the clubs. Picking up a couple hot chicks to take back to my flat. Long night if you get my drift," Steed said, leering at St. Hammond and nudging him with his elbow. "Know what I mean?"

St. Hammond schooled his face to hide the fact he knew this wasn't his James. Instead he smirked. "I certainly do. Might want coffee today instead of tea," he said.

"Good idea," Steed said, reaching past the tea for the coffee pot.

"Enjoy. I've gotta go let Clarkson know about a lead I may have found on an old robbery case," St. Hammond excused himself.

It was all he could do to not run to Clarkson's desk; he knew he needed to keep his cool. That was not James Steed and St. Hammond was pretty sure he knew who it was. A man others had often said looked like Steed: Lord Stephen Slaughter.

"Clarkson—I'm going to tell you something that'll make you want to shout, but you musn't. Promise me."

Clarkson frowned. "What, do you fancy me now, or does Steed?"

St. Hammond rolled his eyes. "Neither of us would ever be that desperate." He raised his hand to stop further comment from Clarkson. "That man in there is NOT James Steed and no I didn't kiss him to find out. Two things, he's slightly taller—trust me I notice these things being a short arse. Also, James left my flat at five this morning—that impostor said he spent the night at the disco picking up hot chicks."

Clarkson was quiet as he watched fake-Steed come out into the main office. He returned the other man's wave and nodded. "Oh, sweet baby Jesus, that's Slaughter, isn't it? And if he's here, where's Steed?" he spoke quietly which almost surprised St. Hammond.

St. Hammond moved to his desk and brought up surveillance of the building. "Look," he said, zooming the camera in. "It's his lover, Alan, sitting in that car. I think he's our best bet to get information. Slaughter will be harder to crack."

"I agree. You go and get Darling, I'll keep an eye on Slaughter. I might even shoot him, if he gives me any reason to."

"Please, don't. Do you know how much paperwork that would entail?" St. Hammond asked. "A lot." He grabbed his leather jacket and headed out the door.

In moments he was sneaking up on Darling's car. He yanked the door open and pulled Darling out shoving him against the hood of the car, pulling his arm high up behind his back. "I know it's Slaughter in there, Darling. And I know you must've done something with Steed. Tell me where he is!"

"Slaughter will kill me if I do!" Darling said, wincing as St. Hammond pulled his arm even further up his back and karate chopped him at the base of his neck.

"What he'll do to you is nothing compared to the torture you will undergo if you don't tell me now where Steed is!" St. Hammond growled. He shoved Darling's head against the hood of the car.

"Ow, you fucking broke my nose!"

"Oh, I'll break a hell of a lot more than that. TELL ME!"

"Okay, okay. He's at the warehouse Slaughter has down by the docks."

St. Hammond pulled his cuffs out, placing them roughly around Darling's wrists. He radioed Clarkson. "I've taken care of the trash down here, got the info. Can you handle the clean up while I go get the package?" 

"Good work. I'll take care of things up here. Be careful, he may have guards or some such."

"Roger that. St. Hammond, over and out." 

St. Hammond shoved Darling face down into the front seat of his car. "Don't go anywhere, man, or I will hunt you down and kill you."

"Oh, for Christ's sake I can't even stand up," Darling said. "And my nose fucking hurts," he whined.

St. Hammond ignored Darling and jumped into his car, leaving rubber behind as he pulled away from the curb.

In the office, Clarkson took his gun out of it's holster and walked up behind Slaughter who was standing at the photocopier.

"Don't move or I _will_ blow your brains out, Slaughter," Clarkson said. 

Slaughter didn't move. "How did you know?" he asked, a whinging tone in his voice.

"Wasn't me, it was St. Hammond. You overlooked one flaw in your plan—I mean you do look a lot like Steed, but you're a couple inches taller. And when you're a short arse like Hammond, you know how far you have to tilt your head back to look at someone. He's gotten the address of where you're holding Steed out of your Darling man," Clarkson said, gloating. He patted Slaughter down, checking for weapons; he tossed the handgun he found in the holster.

"Damn it, I was hoping neither of you would notice," Slaughter said, sighing.

"So, here's what you're going to do, Slaughter. You're gonna put your hands behind your head, locking your fingers, then you're gonna get on your knees and I'm going to handcuff you. And if you try anything, anything at all, if you even twitch in a way I don't like? I will shoot you, paperwork be damned," Clarkson said, keeping the barrel of his handgun against the back of Slaughter's head. 

A few minutes later and Clarkson had Slaughter secured and he sat at his desk, gun still trained on the other man, as he waited for the agents from HQ to come and pick Slaughter and Darling up.

Screeching to a stop outside the warehouse, St. Hammond jumped out of the car and ran up to the warehouse, peeking around the corner. One guard outside. He waited until the man's back was turned, the rushed him from behind, using his world class karate skills to bring the other man down and knock him out. He grabbed the keys from the man's belt and unlocked the door to the warehouse.

St. Hammond nearly wrenched the door off its hinges in his attempt to get to Steed. The door had no sooner opened than he rushed inside, shining his flashlight around. "James, where are you, I'm here! James!"

A low moan sounded to his left, and St. Hammond shone the light in the corner. His lover was bound to a chair and gagged; there was a small trickle of dried blood at his temple. St. Hammond rushed over, kneeling beside the chair; he removed the gag and bindings with great haste. 

St. Hammond cradled Steed's face in his hand, slapping it lightly with his other hand. "James, love, are you okay, can you hear me?"

Steed reached up, grasping St. Hammond's wrist. He nodded weakly. "I'm, I'm okay, thirsty, though," he said, his voice rough from disuse.

"Can you stand?" St. Hammond asked, helping the other man as he stood. James was a bit wobbly but after a moment he seemed to be okay. Not wanting to risk further injury, St. Hammond wrapped Steed's arm around his shoulders and slid his arm around Steed's waist. He could feel Steed tense. "No one will think anything of it, you just need a bit of support at the moment."

Steed nodded, "Of course, sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, mate. C'mon, we're going to the hospital so you can be checked out."

"St. Hammond, I'm fine," Steed said before he almost dropped to his knees.

"Yeah, I can see you're just fine. Hospital it is, no arguments," St. Hammond said. 

Mid morning of the next day, St. Hammond was addressing the assembled agents at Interceptors' HQ. "So, Steed is off for the next few days, but he's going to be alright—and Slaughter and Darling are going back and going TO prison respectively. I know the rumour mills already churning so I'm going to clear something up. Yes, James Steed and I are lovers, have been for a year or so now."

St. Hammond glared at the assembled agents. "And the first person who makes any sort of crack within my earshot about my mounting a mighty Steed? I will shoot you. Dead. And then shoot you again, is that clear?" There were murmurs of agreement. "Okay, that's all I've got to say. Thank you."

As the other agents wandered off, Clarkson walked over next to St. Hammond. Clarkson snorted. "Not sure I'd call it mighty..."

St. Hammond narrowed his eyes. "I've shot you before Clarkson, I'll shoot you again...."

Clarkson's face softened as he smiled. He put an arm around St. Hammond's shoulders. "You know I only want the best for you two. Now you best go on before W changes his mind about letting you have time off to nurse Steed back to health. Tell him I said hello and I'll stop by to visit in a couple days."

"Good God, that will give him something to dread," St. Hammond said, smirking. "And, yes, I should be going," St. Hammond added, spotting W at the other end of the hall. "Thanks for everything Clarkson," he said and waved to the others before beating a hasty retreat.

St. Hammond stopped to pick up some groceries on his way back to Steed's flat. He arrived back and peeked in on James; the older man was snoring softly in his bed. St. Hammond, smiled, a soft feeling welling up inside him. He put the groceries away and grabbed a bottle of beer; he figured he'd watch some telly if Steed was going to sleep.

"Roger, are you there?"

"Yes, love, I'm right here," St. Hammond said. He got up and went into Steed's bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking Steed's hand in his own. "What's wrong?"

"I don't think I can do this anymore," Steed said.

"Do what, be a part of The Interceptors?"

Steed nodded. "Yeah, I mean, I never thought I'd leave....but that was before I met you, before I had a real reason to come home after every mission. If I'd died yesterday...it scares me, Roger, the thought that we'd never get time together."

"You're getting sappy on me, old man," St. Hammond said, leaning over to kiss Steed. "But I do kind of like it. Are you sure you want to do this, to retire?"

"I think it's time for me...this last fiasco proves it."

"W may not want to let you go."

"He'll not have a choice," Steed said.

St. Hammond smiled. "I imagine he won't. Well, if you're going, then so am I."

"Do you think you can give up the excitement?"

St. Hammond laughed. "What good is you retiring if I'm not with you? Of course, I can give up the excitement. I'll find it in other ways," he said, smiling.

He continued, "I've wanted to have a place out in the country since I was a lad growing up in Birmingham. As long as you don't mind me maybe doing some motorbike racing or rally car racing, once in a while, just cus it's exciting.... I think I could manage," St. Hammond was quiet for a moment. "But seriously, James, when I didn't know what Slaughter had done to you, that maybe he'd killed you? I've never been more afraid of anything in my life. I know you don't like sloppy emotional crap, but too bad. I love you and I don't want to lose you. Retiring will make the chances of losing you drop dramatically."

Steed was quiet for a moment, his blue eyes scanning St. Hammond's face; he reached out and took St. Hammond's hand in his own. "You're right, I hate sloppy emotional crap, but I love you anyways," Steed said, smiling. "Roger, you're the most important thing in my life...and thank you for being willing to give the Interceptors up for me."

The two men stared lovingly at each other until Steed gently pulled on St. Hammond's hand. "C'mon kick your shoes off and join me in bed. I've missed you."

St. Hammond gladly did as Steed asked. He curled up to Steed's side, head on his lover's shoulder and he moved a bit closer as Steed's arm wrapped around him. It wasn't long before sleep overtook them both.


End file.
